


Part Simmons

by ugandadistrict9



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Smoking, Trauma, i wanna call this grimmons but its not shippy at all so i shouldnt put it in the ship tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:58:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7733077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ugandadistrict9/pseuds/ugandadistrict9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hated when Grif smoked in general, and now that he was in possession of Simmons’ body parts, he felt completely uncomfortable with it. His own robotic parts were a constant reminder of what Grif had of his. Every time he felt the stitches and metal plating on his chest, he thought of Grif. Grif had his old parts. He tried not to blame Grif for taking what was his, as it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t wanted it either. But he couldn’t stay mad with Sarge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part Simmons

**Author's Note:**

> another drabble i wrote back in june

“I’m part computer. I don’t think it gets much weirder than that.”

“Well, considering I’m part Simmons, I’d argue that it does.”

“Good point.”

There was a pause.

“What’s that like, anyway?" Simmons asked. "You know, being part... me.”

“It’s not that weird, until I think about it.”

Simmons looked over at Grif, curious. “Why wouldn’t it be weird?”

“Well, it is weird. I’m like Frankenstein's freaking monster! None of my organs are mine. They’ve been in you! I’m just saying that it doesn’t really feel any different.”

“No?”

“Nah. The only thing I notice is that your lungs are actually a lot better than mine were. Breathing feels nice. My old lungs were probably getting cancer or something. Maybe I really should quit smoking…”

“You should.”

Grif made a face. “Do you have any idea how much effort that takes, Simmons? Have you ever even met me?”

“Right,” Simmons sighed. Grif wouldn’t even stand up and walk two feet to get the TV remote when a show he didn’t like was on. He couldn’t even imagine the man putting in months and months of work trying to quit on an addiction.

“The fact that it upsets you only makes me want to do it more.”

“Don’t blame me.”

“I’m not blaming you,” Grif said, “I’m just pointing it out. If you’d stop policing me every now and again, I wouldn’t have to go out of my way to piss you off as much. It’s a lot of work sometimes.”

“You’re blaming me for--” Simmons sighed again. “You know? Nevermind.”

“That’s the spirit.” Grif pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“Aw, Grif, no,” Simmons protested.

“What? I’m not wearing my helmet this time.”

“I don’t care. I can’t just sit here and watch you cancerize my lungs.”

“Why not? They’re not your lungs anymore. It’s not like you’re getting them back. And is cancerize even a real word…?”

“Grif…”

Grif paused, giving Simmons a look. Simmons glared back at him.

He hated when Grif smoked in general, and now that he was in possession of Simmons’ body parts, he felt completely uncomfortable with it. His own robotic parts were a constant reminder of what Grif had of his. Every time he felt the stitches and metal plating on his chest, he thought of Grif. Grif had his old parts. He tried not to blame Grif for taking what was his, as it wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t wanted it either. But he couldn’t stay mad with Sarge.

When he really thought about it, being a cyborg had a lot of benefits, but thinking about it like that made him feel guilty about Grif. Grif hadn’t gained anything from the operation. At least Simmons was greatly enhanced, had a built in calculator, and no longer needed all of his blood to stay alive. Grif had gotten the short end of the deal, having no reason to get his organs replaced apart from Sarge’s great amusement. And the ‘at least he had healthy lungs and liver’ was getting ruined by Grif’s smoking habit. It made Simmons really upset to think that Grif was ruining the only good thing to come out of the ordeal, and that there was nothing he could do about it.

“Fine,” the orange soldier sighed eventually. He set the cigarettes down on the edge of the metal base, where he was sitting.

Simmons didn’t know what had brought that on, but he felt strangely relieved.

“Thank you,” he murmured, staring up at his teammate in disbelief.

Grif looked away, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, whatever. Don’t think anything of it.”

Simmons smiled to himself as he turned away.


End file.
